


Nearly (but not neatly) Whole

by Anonymous



Category: Survive Style 5+ (2004)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Choking, Cock & Ball Torture, Dubious Consent, F/M, Femdom, Healing Sex, Married Couple, Pegging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:56:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23603428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: In which a wife brutally fucking her husband gives him back the strength he needs to try and kill her again, and the wife knows this.
Relationships: Mimi/Ishigaki
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3
Collections: Anonymous, Smut 4 Smut 2020





	Nearly (but not neatly) Whole

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DeathCorporal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathCorporal/gifts).



> she had to do something! he got knocked out when he flew over that car!!
> 
> I used Mimi and Ishigaki for the names of the characters in this fic since I didn’t want to rely solely on epithets. I hope you enjoy, and that I successfully captured the silent, murderous quality of their relationship.

_If you've never seriously thought about killing someone, then you're probably especially afraid of your own death. You don't know when it's coming, and you think you won't see it coming. The fear of failure and of having no legacy to leave behind likely plays in your mind from time to time like a record. "Will my loved ones be hurting?" "Will anyone even remember me?"_

_I don't care about any of that._

_To anybody else out there, I'm already nothing._

_But to my wife, I was, or rather am, something._

_And maybe that's not the whole reason why, but I know I have to kill her._

_Again._

_And again._

* * *

The shovel thunks into the ground for the last time. On cue, Ishigaki takes out his cigarette packet and places one of the cigs between his lips. The smoke filling his lungs is a most calming tonic for his nerves and the pain from bodily exertion—this time had been more difficult than the previous times due to the whole...dismemberment and all. 

After a few minutes he stubs out his cigarette, hefts himself into the car and makes the drive home. 

His fingernails, despite his best efforts at cleaning up the blood, are dirty underneath—the colour of coffee grounds—and grip the underside of the steering wheel tightly. Despite the drags he took and the reality that his wife is several feet underground, he feels it won't be permanent. Neither his mind nor his wife will be at rest for long, he almost certainly knows.

One foot over the doorway and he already sees the truth of the matter.

There on the mezzanine balcony is his very fashionable wife, expression stoic as a doll and containing the palpable cold anger of a woman scorned, as she had been. Ishigaki feels little regret at being the perpetrator of that—just tiredness. He doesn't know how many times he will have to kill her

over 

and over.

Ishigaki doesn't know that this is going to go on and on—longer than he can stand, as long as she desires. And she desires the world. All of him, all for him. More for him, more than he could take, of her. She would give it to him all right. All would be for him. 

Why doesn't he appreciate it?

A forearm separates from her body and shoots out straight towards him. Ishigaki folds into himself and towards the door, wondering if he needs to open it and run, but there's no time and he has to dodge it. He runs away in another direction but the other forearm is following after him in an air-blazing trail. And again the other. The last rocket punch, and the one he feels, is sent at such a velocity just when he gets on the moonlit outer grounds of the property that it sends him flying backwards over the entire length of his own car. 

* * *

A finger curls somewhere deep inside Ishigaki when he comes to. He writhes away from the feeling, but it comes back with every push from the deft hand of his dead wife. Well, his wife who should be dead. 

But she never does stay dead long, does she? 

The series of rocket punches she had sent him from her detachable arms had disoriented him, but the strong kicks he had received from a much shorter range had downright brutalized him. On his hands and knees, with ruby red blood dripping off his mouth and turning into a deeper colour on the floor of their living room, is where he finds himself now, with his pants around his ankles, dragged off just like his body had been dragged here. His wife's hands work him over rough and often twisting—he can hardly tell if the latter pertains more to the hand at his backside or to the hand gripping his hair at the scalp. The pain he feels, compounded and excruciating as it is, also prevents him from doing much to fight back. 

Mimi, hand at his ass going off like a piston, thrusts a second finger into Ishigaki with as little warning as anything else, earning an audible wince. Mimi remains stone-faced, but is possibly not all pleased with that. She takes her fingers out, from his hair too, and just one breath later Ishigaki feels the pressure of a kick to his balls.

He yowls in pain and grits his teeth as best as he can. Mimi snatches up his long locks again as his knees give way, his thighs falling so his lower body nearly meets the floor. She stomps on his balls, crushing them under foot as Ishigaki seethes and screams. She seems to be smushing his scrotum, as she wipes her foot side to side, digging into it. Ishigaki feels a terrible amount of pain, worse than anything he has felt in his life—and because of recent days and nights trying to make up for a whole lifetime, he could say it had been a very painful life.

His wife, post mortem, had always served him a beating, but only now it seems like she is taking it all to another level. She had been violating him, churning up his insides, and now abusing his nethers. Ishigaki finds it almost too much to bear, painwise, but he has to overcome it if he is going to have an opportunity to kill her. His hands spasm open and closed as she steps on his vulnerable balls.

He has none of the strength required to do so at the moment.

Shocking to Ishigaki, her abuse is not going to stop just there. She wrenches his head back with the hold she has on his hair and walks around him to be closer to his face. She kneels to be truly at face-level with him and grips tighter at his long black hair. A wince again from Ishigaki, and Mimi is softly smiling. Though small, and at the corner of his peripheral vision, Ishigaki can hear and feel the puff of air of a chuckle that Mimi lets out. Then, she brings his face closer to hers, and darts her tongue out to lap at the blood that is leaking from his mouth and forehead. Her tongue is warm and...eerily nostalgic. From off his face, Mimi makes a feast of his blood, lapping at it all, letting her tongue stay on his face longer so the blood mingles with her saliva at the tip, slathering all over him. Ishigaki grimaces and tries to twist away, but Mimi’s hold is firm, and of course, Ishigaki’s strength sapped. 

Mimi then lets him go, his face free to almost thunk on the floor if his splayed hands are to not break its fall. Ishigaki can hear soft footsteps walking, roaming away from him, but he knows his wife won't be gone for long. She will be swiftly bringing upon him a new punishment, the escalation of which he can only dream of.

He didn't know what he had done to receive such undivided attention from this creature of a woman, apart from killing her. Her dedication presumably outmatched and...outlived that.

Did it outmatch his own?

Mimi seems to drift over to the side of the room wherein stands a pillar and a horse statue. Her hand moves to the underbelly of the horse and Ishigaki hears in the distance a snap, and pattering of little stones.

A roll onto his side, since he needs to relieve his knees of their stress. But his wife comes back speedily and wrenches him onto his back.

Mimi situates herself between her husband's thighs, forcefully pulling them apart. She brings out the item she had snapped off the horse—an unrealistic shaped but fairly large penile appendage in pure ceramic. She holds the heft of it in one hand, though it is so long and heavy she may find need for both hands to maneuver it. 

If maneuver it is what she is to be doing.

That is not the matter at hand for Ishigaki, though, he thinks. Considers.

He doesn't know. But causing some light property damage is probably not all his wife plans to cap the night off with.

Mimi lets her lips fall open as pink blood-mingled spit dribbles out of her mouth and onto the horse cock. She spits on it two times, then with little warning shoves it into Ishigaki’s bloody sore of a mouth. The feel of the contaminated ceramic against his tongue and teeth is uncomfortable, and so is the scraping against his fresh wounds. Blood pools in his mouth and slicks the appendage anew - a replacement for, or marriage to, Mimi's saliva as well.

Mimi pushes the cock deeper, making Ishigaki hollow out his cheeks as he sucks it into his throat on reflex—he almost gags. Mimi pops it out, satisfied for now. She inspects how covered in fluid the cock is—good enough for her, or even, for him...but does the goodness of it ever matter?

She detaches a hand, which maneuvers into his mouth, and traces his bloody spittle down his chest.

Trails of bloody spit are messily formed by her light fingers, over and over. Ishigaki's skin flushes and brims with heat under the unbreaking gaze of his wife.

After the hand is done with that, it treks lowers on Ishigaki's body and strokes his cock—measuredly slow at first, jerking it harder every so often. 

Mimi's other hand does the work of easing the blood-covered ceramic horse cock into his hole. Slow, just like the jerking hand. The ring of muscle takes her in hesitantly. With little preparation, it requires much more force than Ishigaki would like, an area begrudgingly more delicate. A little more, and he’s now hungrily clenching around it—surely involuntarily. She stares into Ishigaki’s eyes, and for what, he doesn't know. He tries his best not to betray any sort of emotion to her. 

She nearly bottoms out the next second, if the cock weren't so long and curved so as to prevent that. 

Ishigaki, despite himself, moans. Mimi giggles a little, then positions her clothed crotch at the cock end. She pushes forward, thrusting into him, and his mouth falls further open. Her other hand comes off.

Her previously disembodied hand is off his cock and situated around his neck. The other one joins. Next, they begin choking him, slicing off that air supply he so relies on as a living person.

Unlike her. 

Her arms—stubs at the hands though they are—slap away at whatever feeble and strength-sapped protest Ishigaki tries to make as she fucks him.

She keeps thrusting forward, and the muscle around Ishigaki's abused rectum indecisively takes her in just as well as it pushes her out. 

After a few moments it is obvious Ishigaki is too purple-faced to fight back, strength as middling as before—a shadow of the man she knew in life. One hand returns to beating him off, earning strained, pleasured sounds from the man.

Another strokes his face like a kind lover.

Tension rises in Ishigaki's belly, and a knot twists lower. He feels himself getting closer, though not so much chasing after his climax as running away from it. In no reality would he have ever expected to find himself on the floor on his back nearly mewling as his recently-deceased wife plunges a horse statue's cock deep into him, again and again, expertly until it reaches his sweet spot—

And he was there.

Running away from a wild horse, which had kicked him down and trampled all over him with its hooves, rending him mentally into dust, or fine shards of glass.

Somehow, it is just what he needs to put himself together again.

As if she had fucked him whole.

If he felt any better right now, Mimi would be already dead once again.


End file.
